Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

Loooooong, slightly masturbatory essay. I apologize in advance.

“Jenna,” He stuck his chin out and whined with faux exasperation, “why do you hate me so much?”

Everyone's got that one friend who uses some variation on this phrase as a way to tell you to just lighten up when you are trying to get them to do something completely reasonable. Like stop drinking when they've clearly had enough. Or get in the car when it's 5 in the morning and obviously time to head home. Or to please, just put some clothes on. While you're just trying to get through to the end of the night, your friend basically says to you, Stop being so uptight. You're totally harshing my mellow. Read More »

There's a feeling I sometimes get before going to a party. This sensation that I'm about to step into a den of lions, where I have no control. Where there is a possibility, though sometimes faint, that I'll be eaten alive.

I've always been fairly big on comfort zones. I like knowing my surroundings, spotting all the emergency exits, finding my allies in the crowd. Not having these things makes me nervous, not just for comfort reasons but also for safety. Read More »

“Your Boobies' Names Are: The Bazoombas - Get your own Boobie Names”; DSX; Melissa acting as my official vacation driver; seeing many wonderful friends and getting trashed with them on New Year's Eve; lots of lowcountry cooking; the fourth season of Six Feet Under which I received for Christmas and have already watched one and one-half times; being ready to go home when it was time to go home

Yesterday, in celebration of former-roommate-Melissa's birthday, we sat on her and former-roommate-Emily's living room floor (there is no couch there yet), eating chocolate cake, listening to vintage polka music on vinyl. The air conditioning was broken, it was 85 degrees, and for long spans of time no one talked. It was like a avant guarde European short film made to illustrate the futility of life. But it was definitely the most relaxed party I've been to in a long time.

...

One of the interesting things about living downtown is the fact that laundry day involves going to into the bars that share your building, asking bartenders to change dollars for quarters.

...

Work is not great right now. I myself follow the “don't get dooced” rule, so I won't say much other that I've become very disillusioned with the entire ordeal.

...

The new apartment still rules.

...

It is so surreal to me that while it was not my intention for it to be so, a post to my website somehow passes for a real apology. It doesn't feel real.

...

Classes start again for me on Friday. I was seriously motivated about a month ago, but lately I feel like I'm slipping. I can't organize my thoughts, I can't seem to move on certain things. I feel frozen, locked in place, or maybe even held down by some physic weight.

Of course, this is every August, like clockwork. And hopefully, like clockwork, it'll pass.

I just wish I could remember to watch for it, before I lose what little control I seem to exercise over my own wild psychosis.

The first step is to stop being such a drama queen. Stop feeding it. Stop looking for sympathy, stop trying to be so tragic. It's not romantic, it's sad and desperate.

So stop.

thinking about pimping out the new apartment; impressing my coworkers; my bonding time with CB on fake lunches (we clock out but neither of us eat); party promoting; melodramatic music in various incarnations; watching the cops tear down the MTV reality show casting call flyers off of all the lamp posts in town, hoping they'll fine MTV; productivity/gtd porn; counting the days

To party with the people you work with is actually way more fun than it sounds. I'm too tired and a little too boozed up to be writing this, but I am. I won't remember these fine details tomorrow.

My first favorite quote of the night, delivered in a steady, calm deadpan, “You know you like them. They're the motherfuckin Beatles, for chrissake.”

My second favorite quote of the night, delivered by a raving drunk. “I'm Robin Williams!”

“Are you?”

(Forlorn.) “No, actually, Nicole's Robin Williams. I wish I was Robin Williams.”

But by far, my absolute favorite, unmatched highlights went something like this:

“Neil loves you! He talks about you all the time. He thinks you're magnificent.”

“Really, you think that?” I said to him.

“Of course. Because you are.”

...

“Jenna, promise me you'll graduate.”

“Neil, I promise you I will graduate someday. Before I'm thirty, at least.”

“That's not good enough. It needs to be sooner.”

“How soon?”

“You just need to finish, soon.”

“Why?”

“Because you deserve it.”

...

“Travis, would you describe me as magnificent?”

“Jenna, you are so much more than that.”

...

The theme, at times, seemed to be ‘Jenna Lovefest 2005’.

Neil: “Jenna has the most amazing vocabulary of anyone I know.”

Jenna: “It's just because I read voraciously as a child.”

Katie: “What does voraciously mean?”

Yes folks, that's exactly how it happened.

I have the best super power ever.

And I have the best friends ever. And I do rash things like buy them very expensive bottles of tequila just so they won't forget me.

I'm such a glutton for love.

“Do you believe in UFOs, astral projections, mental telepathy, ESP, clairvoyance, spirit photography, telekinetic movement, full trance mediums, the Loch Ness monster and the theory of Atlantis?”

It was a dinner party for my mother's birthday at my Aunt Tracy's. My Aunt Tracy is not really my aunt. She is not related by blood or marriage, but instead some 30-odd years of history and stories, first with my father, then with my mother as well. Tracy is kind and generous as well as loud and overbearing, which makes for an interesting circle of friends. We sat on the back patio, a mismatched lot with my family and Tracy's friends and neighbors who had been invited to the event. Among them were a couple that had just returned from living in New Zealand. They talked about the beauty of that place and the good nature of it's people. Living there was so different, they said. I couldn't imagine how New Zealand, what I think of as an essentially westernized country, could be so different from how I live. The man pointed out that there were no driers, so if you had to do laundry, and it was going to rain, you were out of luck. However, he always knew when it was going to rain, so they would just not hang out clothes on that day.

“How did you know?”

Tracy cut in as she cleared the plates. “Henry's a psychic.”

“I prefer to think of myself as an spiritual healer.” he said graciously, speaking softly in a strange Southern-cum-New-Zealander accent.

I nodded politely, chuckling to myself in my head. I couldn't understand most of what he said anyway and had to strain to hear. I decided I was better off. He was surely off his rocker somehow, not an uncommon theme with Tracy's friends. I mean, c'mon, she's friends with my dad. I could certainly humor this man long enough to make it through the evening.

The party progressed as every party I had ever been to with my parents progressed. My father played guitar through the light conversation. The adults gradually got more and more buzzed off of imported beer and margaritas. I smiled politely and choose words carefully when explaining what, exactly, it is that I am doing with my life—mainly, at this current juncture, being an IT professional, a web developer. And then, of course, I am always at some point asked to sing.

I ran through a couple of my standards with my father accompanying me. I received the usual accolades, and then Henry, our psychic, launched into his ‘predictions’.

“You know, I really see you becoming involved in music. Performing, on the stage, as your living.”

“Thank you, but I really have no interest in performing. My sister's the performer. I am interested in opening a record store someday—” I said obligingly, “—maybe that's what you're picking up on?”

“No, I definitely see you performing. You certainly have the gift for it.”

“Well I appreciate your compliments, but I have no plans to pursue a career in music.”

“You just wait and see. It'll happen. You're just going to fall into it.”

I was more annoyed than anything else by this. I do not believe in fate, because I believe a man should be able to make his own future, to be in charge of it. The abstract idea of destiny has always irked me, because I see many people take this idea and use it as an excuse to not make proactive change in their own lives while they wait for something to happen to them. I like believing that the only force in control of my future is me.

I just smiled at him, not acknowledging that last comment one way or another, and looked to someone to change the subject.

The evening wore on, and soon, it was time for guests to say their goodbyes. My mother and I sat at the table as Henry and his wife stood and waved, saying how-nice-it-was-to-meet-yous and we-should-do-this-agains. I was sitting at the end of the table nearest to the door, and as Henry walked past me he placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. I looked up at him.

“I just want to share one thing with you before I go.”

I grinned cheerily. “Of course.”

He looked into my eyes and spoke slowly, dreamily. “You just need to learn to love yourself. Once you do that, the weight will just melt away.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He waved at my mother, said goodnight, and walked out.

I was floored. “I really, really don't like him.” I said to my mother.

“Why?” She was absolutely incredulous. I was furious.

“Who the hell does he think he is, saying things like that to people he barely knows?”

My mother didn't understand, she thought I was being too sensitive about being called out on my extra baggage. But that wasn't it.

The reason that I can still remember this all so clearly, the reason this particular incident is still haunting me six months later, is because that ‘healer’, that ‘psychic’, struck a very sensitive nerve within my heart of hearts. It felt like being naked in a room of strangers, the truth of my real inner life, which I share with almost no one, revealed and let out for air.

One of the great ironies of my own life is the deep schism between my overabundance of confidence and my complete lack of self-esteem. It's a bit defiant of simple logic. One would think these things would not be able to exist together, but all you have to do is be a good enough actress to fool even yourself.

This incident has been played over and over in my head for the past months every time I think about how badly I want to loose weight. I finally realized some days ago that the reason that comment struck such a chord with me is this: every time I'm seriously thought about doing something, about making some sort of drastic change, it's never been for me. It's never been because I want to be healthier, or fit into smaller sizes, or have more energy. The reason I cannot maintain ANY momentum is because the effort feels empty of worth. I've always wanted to change for everyone else; to raise my social worth, to be more attractive to friends, jobs, men. This leads to the problem with feeling inherently worthless, an empty investment, therefore, not worth my time and effort to salvage.

Look at the words I use. I already think of myself as a salvage job, as damaged goods.

The only way I can make a change is decide that I'm actually worth changing for. And that starts with believing the things the people I love say about me, and to stop undermining my own value to myself in the lonely hours of the night when I'm off stage, out of my confidence-costume. When I can make a change for myself, solely because I want to make myself happy, I've got to believe that at that point I will be able to. And I'm actively working on getting to that point.

As much as I hate to say it, Henry was right.

Does this mean I also should be trying to get a band together?

I had a blast at The Company's Xmas party. I took the Indian as my date, and at 6:00 pm we got on the bus that would take most of the Athens attendees to the party in Gwinnett. The thing that is both cool and dangerous about taking a bus to this party is the drinking begins the moment you get on the bus. So, my estimate was totally off. Drinks included:

• Something Neil handed to me on the ride down, ordering me to “Drink this!” Even though it was pretty weak the Indian determined for me that it contained bourbon.
• three vodkas on the rocks from the bar at the party (where I had this classic exchange with the bartender):
  

  “Vodka on ice, please.”
  (Incredulous.) “Vodka on ice?”
  “Yessir.”
  (Smiling.) “I like it when people say that.”

• Something an unnamed manager came up and offered. Possibly gin with sprite.
• All of what was in my flask. (5-6 oz. vodka)
• About half of the whiskey in Neil's flask.
• and several hits off of Neil's bottle of Gentleman Jack.

An aside: while making this list, I have determined I owe Neil a bottle of something in the near future.

The party had a casino theme, and while I didn't gamble, I did stand at the end of the craps table for a little while, cheering and blowing on dice. I felt like an archetypal Vegas blonde and I loved it. I stayed off the dance floor but shook my hips to the music anyway. CB and I rapped along to Missy Elliot while Neil gave us his best faux look of stern dissapproval in our musical tastes. I didn't express it but I couldn't get over how hot everyone looked. We clean up very nicely, part timers especially.

Silliness abounded, which as it turns out, was only a precursor to the drunken melodrama that followed on the ride home. Read More »

New insanely addicting site: Make a Flake

New thing that irritates me although I can do nothing about it: sites without syndicated feeds

Favorite Song (this week): The Black Keys - 10 A.M. Automatic

Number of times I've heard 10 A.M. Automatic, according to iTunes: 21

Movie I'm addicted to of late: Donnie Darko

Song that stays stuck in my head always now, featured in the first DD school scene: Head Over Heels, Tears for Fears

Crush: still going strong

Cigarettes I will smoke today (estimate): 7

Drinks I will consume at The Company Xmas party this evening (estimate): 6

Month that I want to be over already: December

Fun post ideas stolen: 1

Somehow whenever I'm with the Indian I get dragged into completely random situations such as house parties. It always seems to happen by accident, with no sense of predetermination, and frequently with the objective of free beer.

There was a party being thrown by some new residents in my apartment building on Friday, and the Indian and I of course ended up there. I didn't particularly want to be there but friends stick together.

Everyone was very nice, but I was tired, and bored. I left a couple of times, running over to the smoke shop or running upstairs in search of decent beer. Out of sheer boredom I macked on this cat (known hereafter as K) who kept flirting with me, but it came increasingly clear that it was going nowhere. K was kind of cute, and only kind of dumb at first, but got stupider and stupider as time went on, no doubt helped along by massive amounts of beer. I gave up on getting any action after this exchange:

K (whining a little): “I wanna go downtown!”
J: “You are downtown.”
K: “I know, but I wanna go to some bars, listen to some music.” (Begins doing the drunk white guy dance.)
J: “What bars are you planning on going to?”
K: “Bourbon Street!”

I later explained to the Indian that I was not going to chase K into that place because I imagine that Bourbon Street is the kind of place where “you catch an STD just by walking in. You come through the door and bang! You've got herpes.”

Except for some funny exchanges with the Indian, it was kind of a waste of an evening.

Tonight I watched Peter Pan all the way through, finally, and I highly recommend it. Catie and I made a liquor store trip, where I purchased peach flavored morning vodka, because it was on clearance, and I just had to after hearing all about it. I'm sure this is just one more step on some cosmic checklist to becoming a respectable alcoholic, but the comic effect of actually having that on hand is something I had to experience.

I just bought a new computer, which is being custom built in a warehouse somewhere and should be in my hands and set up in just a couple of weeks, so if for some reason you would like to opt of the CD-mix-making extravaganza that will promptly ensue, speak now, or prepare to receive and listen to many songs you may or may not want to hear.

Awesome things happening:

• By this time next week I should have my first car.
• I paid off one of my credit cards today.
• Talib Kweli is playing Legion Field on Monday, for free.
• Sarah is moving to Athens.
• Abie and Allison are coming back from their respective vacations, so we will be a family again.

The one thing that must be said about awesome events: the anticipation is killing me.